


Beautiful Ruin

by Lexus (Beautiful_Ruin)



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Plug, F/F, Teasing, client!Eve, pro!Villanelle, public sex in a restaurant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26118190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_Ruin/pseuds/Lexus
Summary: Villanelle is a prostitute. Eve is a challenging client.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 346
Kudos: 414





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ahundredworlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahundredworlds/gifts).



Villanelle really hopes this client is a woman. It has been _such_ a long time since she saw a woman.

As soon as she sees the person at her usual table, her eyes go slightly wide and she curses, curses, _curses_ the two-inch plug in her ass, and she will make Konstantin pay for convincing her to accept the ‘I want to fuck you in the ass with my ginormous thick cock so get ready for it’ client. That appointment is in two days, and she needs to be able to take it without issue if she doesn’t want a bad review. But when she sees Eve, she is immediately regretful for the situation. An initial client meeting wearing a plug in her ass would normally not be a problem. She does not usually get turned on looking at her clients. She is very professional and is very good at maintaining an appropriate level of detachment. But just looking at this woman from across the room has her _fucked_ _up_.

How long has it been since she felt her heart race at the sight of someone? It’s racing now, but Eve has seen her and she can’t back out. She oozes confidence as she walks to the table and slides into the corner booth, hyper aware of the silicone tormenting her and the slight stretch it is causing.

“What’s wrong with you?” Eve blurts out.

Villanelle’s jaw wants to drop but she doesn’t let it. She carefully lifts one eyebrow instead. “Is that how you always say hello, Eve?” She keeps her voice low and intimate.

Eve is obviously flustered. “No, that’s not—I didn’t mean—yeah, no, I’m sorry. You just seemed uncomfortable. Hello.”

“Are you very nervous or just very socially awkward?” Villanelle asks, swirling the ice in her water glass with one finger.

Eve barks out a laugh and runs a hand through her amazing hair. “Probably more of the second. I’m a little nervous, but not that much.”

“So you just do not have a filter,” Villanelle says with a nod. “I think we will get along fine, Eve.”

“What do you need to know about me to make a decision?”

 _Nothing, it was made the moment I breathed inside of your air_. “The first thing I need to know is if, after meeting me, you are still interested in seeing me privately.” She makes the mistake of leaning forward and her eyelids flutter; she knows they do because she feels them do it. Fucking plug. Fucking Konstantin and his terrible screening process.

“Is that a joke?” Eve asks. “Have you seen and heard yourself? Hell, have you _smelled_ yourself?”

Villanelle lets out a very crafted giggle and takes a sip of her water. When she leans back in her chair again the plug shifts and her eyes roll, her jaw tightening. Seriously, she is going to kill—

“Okay that’s it. _What_ is wrong?” Eve asks.

It’s clear she’s going to blow this if she doesn’t come up with a good explanation for her weird (but subtle, she knows she is subtle so how is Eve even noticing?) behavior. Nothing comes to her that would not make Eve think she is being mistreated horribly so she grits her teeth and bears the fact that she’ll have to tell the truth. “There is a two-inch plug in my ass that is stretching me both uncomfortably and _very_ comfortably,” she says, preparing for the worst.

Eve stares at her, but not in any particular kind of way. “Why?”

Villanelle was not expecting that question and she blinks. “ _Why_?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because I have an appointment in a few days that requires a certain type of preparation.” It is strange to be talking about this with a prospective client.

“Hm. Fair enough.”

“I should not be talking about other appointments with you, Eve.” She tilts her chin down a little and looks at Eve from under her lashes.

“Don’t do the coy thing,” Eve says, pointing at her and twirling her finger, clearly indicating her posturing.

 _What_? “The coy thing is a trademark of mine.” She purses her lips in thought.

Eve leans forward and folds her hands together in the middle of the table. “Bullshit.”

Villanelle’s jaw finally drops a little, and she’s not sure if it’s calculated or not. Eve is very challenging. “You do not think I am coy with all of my clients, Eve?” She tries to regain the upper hand. If she ever had it.

“Didn’t you just say you shouldn’t be discussing other appointments with me?”

Villanelle is going to answer when Eve sits back and speaks again.

“What else do you need to know about me?”

“What do you do for work?” _NO, VILLANELLE_.

Eve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”

Too late now. She shrugs one shoulder and makes an affirmative noise.

“I work for MI5 as a risk analyst.”

That explains how Eve had picked up on her tiiiiiny little indiscretions. So tiny.

“Why do you need to know that?”

“Standard procedure.”

“Then why wasn’t that question on the application form?” Challenging _and_ quick witted.

“I didn’t make the form.” Villanelle is quick witted too.

Eve does not look convinced. “Sure. I’ll bite. Anything else standard procedure that wasn’t on the form?”

Villanelle isn’t used to anyone being able to tell she is lying. She makes a career out of it, after all. “No,” she says, and she knows there is a slight note of irritation in her voice.

“Do I frustrate you?”

Should she be honest? “I do not know that I would say frustrate, but you are challenging, yes. At least more challenging than most people I am used to dealing with. It is not a bad thing.”

“Because I have a brain?”

The laugh isn’t forced this time and Villanelle shuts it down quickly. “Something like that.”

“So do I pas—”

“Why do you want my services?”

“ _That_ was on the form and I already answered.”

“Tell me. Please. I’d like to hear it from you directly.”

Eve sighs and it is the first sign of anything less than the casual confidence that pours from her. “I don’t like attachments. I can’t talk about my job with anyone, and they always ask, so I can’t even date without attachments. It’s been awhile, and frankly I’m sick of masturbating and I want someone else to get me off.” She shrugs.

Villanelle’s eyes sparkle. “Do you know that is the most refreshing answer I have ever gotten from a prospective client?”

Eve looks surprised. “Really?”

“Yes,” Villanelle says, and it’s true. “Usually it’s oh, I want to spoil you, I want to treat you like a princess, I want to be the man you’ve always wanted and never had, oh, my wife doesn’t understand me, I feel pressured by my seven children, I—” She realizes what she is doing and stops, closing her mouth and pressing her lips tightly together. “Please excuse my—I do not usually speak badly of my clients.”

Eve does not look upset, though. In fact, she looks intrigued. “It was just getting good. Don’t stop.”

She watches Eve get out of the booth and move around to her side of it, and then Eve is sitting right next to her, almost touching her, and her pulse pounds in her stomach. “It isn’t appropriate. I shouldn’t speak that way. I am very grateful for my clientele and—”

“Come on,” Eve coaxes, turning toward her and leaning one elbow on the back of the seat, resting her head on her hand. The effect is unnerving. “What is the absolute worst reason you’ve ever gotten?”

Villanelle has to think about that. There have been so many. “Oh. No, I know what it is. I reminded this man of his sister.”

“Oh my God,” Eve says, snorting with laughter, and Villanelle can’t help laughing a little too. Like Eve’s carefree attitude is contagious. Maybe it is.

Villanelle feels a hand on her knee and her gaze snaps down, nostrils flaring. _What_ is Eve doing? This is the consultation! “That’s—” She has no idea what she was going to say but she doesn’t get a chance to say it anyway because Eve slings an arm around her waist and lifts her the slightest bit to one side, then lets go, and the plug presses deep into her and she sucks in a very loud breath, grabbing the edge of the table with both hands, unable to believe Eve has just done this. “What—”

“I like genuine,” Eve says with a smirk. “ _That_ was genuine.”

Villanelle is uneasy and turned on and she doesn’t know if she wants Eve to get up and leave forever or to do that to her again. Eve’s other hand is still on her knee, and would it be terrible if they skipped straight to it? She is obviously going to accept Eve as a client and Eve is obviously going to accept her as a pro. Do they really need to make a whole other appointment when they are already sitting beside each other and ready to go? “My hotel room is—”

“No,” Eve says. “I want to fuck you right here.”

“You _what_?”

“If we go to your room, you’re back in control. I don’t want you to put on a performance.”

“I thought you wanted someone to get you off.”

Eve leans closer to her and speaks in a voice that sets off twelve sets of alarm bells in her upper body alone. “In a few days, you have an appointment with a man that wants to fuck you in the ass, and his dick must be pretty damn big for you to be sitting here with a two-inch training plug in while we’re having a consultation.”

Villanelle does not see the relevance. “And?”

“And while you’re faking it for him... I want you to remember letting a prospective client fuck you under the table in a crowded restaurant during a consultation.”

Eve is going to wreck her. She can barely speak. “Who says I fake anything?”

Eve’s grin isn’t very friendly. “You tell me, Miss ‘the coy thing is a trademark of mine’... Do you usually fake it?”

Villanelle isn’t sure why she’s even answering, but Eve’s hand is crawling under her skirt. “I always fake it with men.”

“And with women?”

“Female clients are few and far between. Usually I touch them, they do not touch me.”

“Your choice or theirs?”

“My choice.”

“Why?”

 _Because I am gay as fuck_. “Because I react more strongly to women. It is bad for business.”

“Am I ruining your business?”

Eve’s hand is really close to her underwear. She should stand up now and walk away; maintain control; insist that they schedule an appointment and meet another time in her hotel room. Put on a performance. “You might be,” she chokes out. She is about to stand when Eve lifts her again.

This time Eve doesn’t just let go, she lets go and puts her arm around Villanelle’s shoulders instead of around her waist, and she presses _down_.

The plug shifts and stretches her more and she hadn’t realized she was still holding the table but she is, and a cry leaves her throat that she can’t force back. “ _Eve_.” She shudders.

“You’re the one that came to this meeting wearing a butt plug,” Eve says. “And _told_ me about it.”

“I had to tell you something,” Villanelle breathes.

“There are a million lies you could have told,” Eve says, crawling her fingers higher, barely ghosting across the soaking wet fabric between her legs. “You _wanted_ me to know.”

Maybe that’s true. She could have taken the time to come up with a decent lie, but she hadn’t. Maybe she’s fooling herself that telling Eve things was a necessity and not a desire.

“You keep looking at my hair.”

“It is very fabulous.” Her voice is scratchy and breaks more than once.

“It must be, with the amount of times you’ve looked.” Eve presses one finger to the spot where her left thigh creases with her pelvic bone and drags it downward along the seam of her panties.

She grips the table harder but doesn’t respond. And then Eve’s hand is out from between her legs and sliding underneath her and squeezing her ass cheek to manipulate the plug inside her and she leans forward over the table, hair falling around her face as she lets loose a sound of longing she has never heard herself make.

Instead of being discouraged, this seems to motivate Eve and her hand forces its way even further underneath Villanelle, and oh, God, because Eve’s somehow managed to find the base of the plug without even being inside her underwear and _now_ Eve’s _pushing_ on it. “Fuck!” she says, and her voice comes out with an embarrassing squeak.

Eve’s lips are on her ear. “Let me in your panties,” she demands in a hot whisper.

All Villanelle can do at this point is let her. “Yes. Okay.” She barely even sounds like herself. She has not reacted this way to someone since before she became a pro. Long, long before. It is new and exciting and terrifying, and she wants to stop it but she also wants it to go on forever. Who knows if she will ever feel this again? She should not even be letting Eve touch her at all, but she parts her thighs to accommodate Eve’s seeking hand.

“Do not fake anything,” Eve warns.

Villanelle opens her mouth to snap; to tell Eve to fuck off; to leave. “I won’t.” _What_?

“Good,” Eve says, and fingers slide beneath the waistband of her panties, down into her slick heat.

It is embarrassing, how wet she is. She wants to know if Eve is as wrecked as she is. Her hips jerk and she reaches a hand toward Eve’s pants.

“No,” Eve says to her for the second time tonight. “I don’t want to be your knight in shining armor because I don’t think you need rescuing, but I do want to stand out. I’ve decided I don’t want you to touch me. If we see each other again, you can touch me then.”

Villanelle feels helpless, something she is unused to. “At least tell me if you’re wet,” she begs, closing her eyes against the humiliating wave of nausea at being the one at such a disadvantage that she feels the need to _beg_. For anything.

“Oh, I’m wet,” Eve says, and the way she says it leaves no doubt she’s telling the truth.

This at least allows Villanelle to open her eyes again, focused very strongly on her water glass. The ice has almost melted and there will be no satisfying clink if she stirs it. Eve’s fingers are still, and if she can just get Eve to hold them still a bit longer then maybe she can collect herself and end this. “Пожалуйста,” she whispers. “Tы меня сломаешь.”

Eve’s lips are at her ear again. “Но это будут такие красивые развалины.”

“О, боже мой,” Villanelle swears, because Eve speaks Russian? “Yes,” she agrees, because she can’t not agree. Not now. “It will be.” She parts her thighs further and rocks her hips into Eve’s hand. “Пожалуйста,” she says again, this time for an entirely different reason and with an entirely different meaning.

Eve finally pushes a finger inside her, and a shudder rocks through her, and her cheeks clench around the plug, and that makes everything _move_ and _press_ , and if she thought she was embarrassed before, that was nothing compared to how embarrassed she is when she comes. Eve tears the orgasm from her without her permission, leaving her rattled and shaking, leaned over the table, forehead pressed to the cool wooden surface.

“Take your hand out,” she says, and she’s not mad at Eve, she’s mad at herself, but she sounds mad at Eve, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

Eve does as she asks, removes her hand, and even though it was just one finger barely inside her at all, Villanelle already misses the feeling. And that is more terrifying than anything else that has happened tonight. “Are y—”

“I have to go,” Villanelle says, short and clipped, and she doesn’t even look at Eve as she gets up and makes a beeline for the door to the back, where Eve cannot follow her.

When she is safely around the corner in the kitchen, she leans against the wall and breathes. Beautiful ruin, indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short chapter with V dealing with the fallout of her encounter with Eve and taking it out on Konstantin over text.

Villanelle doesn’t hear from Eve that night. Or the next day. Or the next day. And while she is with the client who fucks her in the ass, Eve’s words ricochet back and forth inside her head. _And while you’re faking it for him... I want you to remember letting a prospective client fuck you under the table in a crowded restaurant during a consultation_.

She is thinking of Eve while she is with another client and it is unacceptable. He is paying her an exorbitant amount of money to have access to her ass, and she needs to be present and accounted for. So she speaks, which she rarely does while being railed by a male client. “Fuck me harder.”

***

She is sore after he leaves and she pours herself a glass of wine and takes a warm bath, letting the water soothe her very unhappy asshole while she drinks and reads a book. She will need to postpone tomorrow’s appointment until she heals, but she tries not to think about that right now. She focuses her eyes on the words on the page, finally turning her brain off enough to get lost in the wilderness of Africa with the characters of _Zoo_.

She makes it through three chapters before her phone chimes, and she sighs, setting her book over on the toilet and avoiding her glass of wine as she stands to reach for a towel. She wraps herself up and flicks the drain open, the familiar sound of water being sucked into pipes echoing through the bathroom.

On her way to the main suite living room she moves the towel to her head and takes her robe from the back of the bathroom door, slipping it on and tying the sash. She swipes her phone from the coffee table and flops onto the couch, opening her texts.

Ugh. It is from Konstantin.

_K: How was the appointment?_

_O: i hate you._

_K: So it went well._

_O: go fuck yourself._

_K: Eve called._

Villanelle freezes, staring at her phone, half tempted to throw it across the room. She remembers Eve’s hand under her skirt and her skin flushes everywhere. She types out a quick response.

_O: what did she want?_

_K: She wants to see you again._

_O: no._

_K: Why not? She is very wealthy and she likes you very much._

_O: i do not want to see her and i do not want to tell you why._

_K: Don’t be ridiculous. I already know why. You let her touch you and you are freaked out. You do not need to be freaked out by this._

Villanelle’s jaw drops as she stares at the phone, watching it grow two heads.

_O: do you have cameras in the restaurant that you did not tell me about? are you being a dirty old man and spying on my consultations?_

She can practically _hear_ him laughing.

_K: Again, don’t be ridiculous. Eve told me what happened._

Villanelle drops the phone. What? Eve did what? Eve told her fucking manager about a private encounter betw— _Chime_. She leans forward to look down at the screen.

_K: She only told me because she said she feels very bad. She did not mean to upset you and she would very much like to see you again, in your hotel room where you are in control._

She growls and picks up the phone.

_O: no._

_K: FINE. I will tell her that you are stupid._

_O: tell her that YOU are stupid. you are the one whose fault this is._

_K: Me? How is this my fault?_

_O: if i was not wearing that training plug i would not have had such a hard time refusing her advances. your. fault._

_K: I did not tell you to wear a training plug to your consultation. You cannot blame me. Sorry. Your own fault._

_O: no, it is actually your fault. you convinced me to take this ass-fucking client with the abnormally large penis._

_K: You wanted new clothes! He paid you twice your rate!_

_O: and now my asshole hurts, which is also your fault._

_K: Oh my God. I have to go now, I am taking Irina to dinner. Behave yourself._

_O: fuck off. and tell eve no._

_K: Yes, yes, I know. Good night._

Villanelle doesn’t respond. Until she remembers about moving her next appointment.

_O: reschedule tomorrow’s appointment for friday._

_K: I will e-mail you the new confirmation. Good niiiiiight._

She knows this means he does not want to text anymore, so she answers again just for that.

_O: my asshole is so sore._

He doesn’t respond. Hmph. She will watch a movie and rub some hydrocortisone cream on her asshole and maybe masturbate. And not think about Eve.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve's POV

Eve is disappointed, but not surprised, when Konstantin calls her back to tell her that Villanelle said no. She had expected as much, but it is still disappointing. Because not only was Villanelle silky smooth on her fingers and wet like nobody’s business, but she’s intriguing. Eve has never met such an intriguing person. Mysterious. Guarded. Professional. Detached.

Detached except when Eve’s hand was under her skirt. She was definitely present and accounted for in that moment.

But then... as soon as it had ended, she had been gone in more ways than one. Physically gone from the table; gone from Eve’s sight. Emotionally gone; inaccessible. And now she is tangibly gone; Eve cannot get another appointment with her. It’s frustrating, because Eve _likes_ her. Eve wants to get inside her head and know what makes her tick. She hasn’t thought about anything besides Villanelle since the moment they’d seen each other across the restaurant, much to her boss’s chagrin. She’d filed five inaccurate reports yesterday and been sent home early to “sort herself out”.

Yesterday was Friday so it’s the weekend now and she has two days to herself, not required to think about risk assessment and targets and flight paths and hotel bookings and anything she doesn’t want to think about. Doesn’t have time to think about, because Villanelle is filling every space inside her head. Filling every breath she takes. Filling the air under, around and through her. Eve is _obsessed_.

She looks Villanelle up online just to see if anyone has written articles about this gorgeous, successful woman, but of course there is nothing because prostitution is still illegal, after all, and she doesn’t think Villanelle is the type to have a day job. Apparently she’s right, because... nothing. All that comes up is poetry, and—she freezes. There’s one that isn’t poetry. It’s on the thirty-fourth page of results. And no she didn’t glance through all thirty-four pages of res—yes she did. She did glance through thirty-four pages of results. She feels that obsessed right now. Like the world is going to literally fucking end if she does not somehow get to interact with Villanelle again.

So, heart racing, she clicks on the link that isn’t poetry. The page is in Russian. Not surprising. She’s very glad she took that particular language in college. She had been preparing for a career in espionage in a way, after all, and it had seemed prudent. Now it was just very personally rewarding.

The page is strange. There’s a picture of a little girl, maybe six or seven, and it could be Villanelle, but it’s hard to tell from a grainy internet photo that’s give or take twenty years old. The actual name Villanelle doesn’t appear anywhere on the page, which makes it stranger. Why did this come up when her only search term was the one word? No spaces, no dashes, no last names, no other words, just Villanelle. And it appears nowhere on this page – not in the body, the header or footer, the title bar, nothing.

There’s a single link in the middle of the page, in the middle of a sentence, and she wouldn’t have known it was a link at all if she hadn’t been hovering the cursor over each word as she read it. Whoever html’d this thing turned the cursor to a crosshair instead of a hand, didn’t underline the link or change its color.

Okay, she is intrigued as fuck now. She holds her breath and clicks the link, and a black screen flashes at her with _spetsnaz_ down in the bottom right corner, just long enough for it to catch her eye and let her read it, and then her computer shuts off. She jumps at first and then just stares. “What the fuck?”

She turns it back on and it boots up normally, so it wasn’t a blown fuse. When she navigates back to page thirty-four of her Google search results, it’s gone. All that’s there is thirty-four pages of poetry links and definitions.

“No!” she shouts and slams her hands down on her desk.

And then she calls Kenny.

***

“What the fuck?” Kenny asks as they both sit staring at his computer. “What does this say?”

He’s managed to at least find the original page with the picture of the little girl on it, because he is really, _really_ good at finding things that are hiding on the internet.

“It’s basically gibberish,” Eve says, and takes his mouse, scrolling down to the part of the page with the invisible link, and hovers the cursor over it.

“Ooh, crosshair cursor. I like it.”

“Is that hard to do?”

“No. Anyone who looks up basic html could do it.”

“How disappointing. Anyway, when I clicked that link at home, it flashed a black screen at me with spetsnaz in the corner and then forced my computer to shut off.”

“And what makes you think it won’t do the same thing to me?”

“Because you’re Kenny.”

He stares at her.

“No I mean, I’m sure it will do the same thing to you, but you’re Kenny. You’ll figure out a way around it.”

“Should we be messing with Russian special forces?”

“Yes.” Obviously.

“Right then.” He clicks the link and the page does exactly what Eve said it would do, except Kenny’s computer is very customized with advanced settings and hardware, so it doesn’t let itself be shut off. It just blinks, and then they are staring at a Russian Intelligence web page.

“OhmyGod. Oh my God. Take a screenshot in case it disappears!” Eve shrieks.

Kenny taps the button for a screenshot and when nothing disappears, Eve nudges him out of his chair and sits, grabbing the mouse again.

“Cool. I’ll stand.”

She doesn’t even look at him. “Thanks.”

“In my own office.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” she says, still without looking or really hearing him at all. She is fully immersed in the world of espionage that usually sits just beyond the reach of her outstretched fingertips, and she is loving it.

She scrolls around until she sees that same picture of a little girl, but this time the text around it isn’t gibberish. It’s names and dates. Oksana Astankova. Is that the little girl? It must be, because after her picture there are two more, presumably the little girl’s parents, called Tatiana and Anatoliy.

She gasps out loud when she reads the text underneath.

_Make sure it looks like an accident. Do not touch the child._

“What the fuck,” she breathed. She clicked on the little girl’s picture and her eyes widened as the new page opened. Dozens of pictures of the kid, outside an orphanage, at parks, ice cream parlours, and as they went on it was clear they were taken a few months apart because the kid got older, and finally she was staring at a picture of Villanelle. The last half dozen photos had been taken at the restaurant where they’d had their consultation. So whoever this was, they had to still be watching Villanelle. She wonders if Villanelle knows about it.

She prints off the entire web page of photos, which takes four sheets of paper, and then she navigates back to print the previous page with the... well... the murder instructions and the pictures of Villanelle’s parents.

She grabs everything and finally looks at Kenny. “You’re the fucking best,” she says, and she’s out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle learns the truth :( or part of it anyway.

Villanelle is just reaching across the table to rest her hand on top of her newest client’s, reeling him in, when she sees Eve standing inside the restaurant doors and she gets so irrationally angry that she digs her nails into the client’s hand without realizing it.

“Ah!” he gasps and pulls his hand back. “I said I like things gentle! We just talked about it!”

Fucking Eve! Now what was she supposed to say?! “My sincerest apologies... I had to make sure you were being genuine so there are no surprises waiting for me in my room this weekend,” she says, hoping she sounds convincing. She has never had to make something up on the spur of the moment to keep a client from walking away. “Surprises can be very disconcerting in my line of work, you know.”

He looks uncertain but puts his hand back on the table and she strokes it lightly. “Just don’t do that again or I won’t be paying you,” he says with a frown.

“Of course,” she says, placatingly sweet, when what she’d like to say is what a fucking pussy he is and if he can’t take a little scratching on the hand then he shouldn’t be hiring a prostitute or cheating on his wife or even leaving his house, really. “So I will see you on Saturday evening? Konstantin will e-mail you the details once you confirm.” She slides her hand back to her own side of the table and slowly puts her finger into her mouth, biting with a coy little expression.

“See you Saturday evening,” he says, and leaves.

Hook, line and sinker.

Now she has to deal with Eve. Who is of course walking over to her now that her client is gone. The smile on her face turns to nothing but a scowl as Eve sits down in the chair that has just been vacated. “Was I not clear when—”

“I have something you need to see,” Eve interrupts her, and oh, does she _hate_ being interrupted.

“What could you possibly have that I need to see?” she snarls.

Eve opens the manila envelope in her hands and slides a stack of papers across the table.

Villanelle rolls her eyes and picks up the top sheet, and what in the _actual_ fuck, because these are photographs of her as a child, taken every few months, and she feels sick to her stomach as she sets the paper back down on top of the stack. “What the fuck is this? Who _are_ you?” she hisses.

Eve looks surprised. “Me? Wha—n—I didn’t take these!” she hisses back.

“Where did you get them? What are they?” Villanelle demands, now angry enough again to start leafing through the pile. Her blood runs cold when she sees that whoever has been taking these is still doing it. The last photo is from a consultation at the beginning of this month. “Who the fuck took these? Where did they come from?” Her voice is starting to raise as panic sweeps through her chest, and she keeps flicking her eyes back and forth between the images.

“They came from a Russian Intelligence site on the dark web,” Eve says. “Read the last page.”

The last page is mostly text, with three photographs, two of which make the bile rise in her throat. She chokes on tears as she stares at her parents; she can almost feel them staring back at her, taunting her, asking how she could forget them, how she could move on with her life. She doesn’t remember much about them, but she remembers what they looked like, and this is most certainly them.

Her hands are shaking too hard for her to read the words so she sets the paper down on the table, swiping tears from her eyes, but it’s no use, her vision is too blurry. “Just tell me what it says,” she snaps, but she sounds more sad than angry.

Eve doesn’t say anything right away and Villanelle almost screams at her, but she just closes her eyes and waits.

“It’s—they—I’m really sorry. It looks like they were killed by spetsnaz.”

Villanelle can’t breathe. “What?” she chokes without taking in any air. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Eve says. “It just says to make it look like an accident and don’t touch the child.”

Her heart is racing in the worst way. “Me,” she says.

“Yeah. You,” Eve says. “And then I guess whoever wanted you unharmed has been keeping tabs on you ever since. It doesn’t say anything about who or why.”

Konstantin must know something about this. “Why did you tell Konstantin I let you touch me?” she asks suddenly, trying to bring the anger back into her chest instead of this confused despair.

“What?” Eve looks surprised again. “I didn’t tell Konstantin jack shit. I asked for an appointment. He called me back and said no. End of story.”

“What?” Villanelle gasps, the dread in the pit of her stomach intensifying tenfold. “That cannot be true. He—”

And suddenly Konstantin is right there, grabbing the pictures and waving them in Eve’s face.

Villanelle doesn’t even have time to wonder where he came from before he is yelling.

“WHERE DO YOU GET THIS?” he shouts. “WHY YOU DO THIS?”

To Eve’s credit, she doesn’t even look afraid of the raving Russian lunatic. Villanelle watches Eve’s eyes narrow.

“I feel like maybe you’re the one who should be answering questions here?” Eve says, raising an eyebrow. “Since it’s becoming exceedingly clear now who actually took those photos...”

Villanelle is frozen, watching back and forth, unable to speak. What would she say, anyway?

“You do not understand!” Konstantin shouts, a little less loud and a little less angry, and he grabs a chair from the next table, dragging it over and slumping into it. “This was necessary.”

Villanelle feels that dread in her stomach start morphing into blind rage. She has to get out of this restaurant before she makes more of a scene than Eve and Konstantin. “Do not follow me,” she whispers, and she leaves the table, going into the back and continuing through the kitchen, taking a right into the corridor and going down the long hall, taking another right at the end of it, then a left, on autopilot until she reaches her safe room, and she locks herself in it and starts destroying things.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve learns the whole truth.
> 
> TW: mentions of child abuse

Eve starts to stand but Konstantin grabs her by the wrist and keeps her in her chair.

“Please,” he says. “Hear me out.”

Eve is very aware of several sets of eyes on them so she tries to keep her voice down. “I’m not going to the cops for fuck’s sake,” she says, irritated, shaking off his hold. “That’s up to Villanelle.”

“I am not worried about police,” Konstantin says. “I want you to know the truth. You are the one who found this, yes? I am not a monster.”

She folds her arms over her chest and sits back in her chair, unimpressed.

“They abused her,” he says after a minute of awkward silence. “Dad use her as a punching bag and Mom did terrible medical things to her little body. I call the police; they did nothing for Oksana. I had no choice if I wanted to save her. Please try to understand.”

Eve is fucking _horrified_ , but she still doesn’t understand why he’s telling _her_ this. “Why do you care what I think?”

He presses his lips tightly together and she thinks he’s not going to answer, but then he finally does. “Oksana let you touch her. This... is very unusual. Then she refused to have an appointment with you. She never refuses appointments. She likes money very much. So, I think maybe you are special. Then, you come with this and turn her life upside down, so it is your job to fix it.”

“Fix it?” Eve nearly shrieks. “You had her parents murdered,” she says, voice lowered. “I can’t fix that. And like you said, she doesn’t want to see me.”

“You are connected now whether you like it or not,” Konstantin insists. “If you did not want to pick up the pieces, you should not have given her this information.”

“Fine. But I don’t know why you think I’m gonna have any luck with this at all. Where is she?”

He looks aghast. “You cannot go right now!”

“Wow,” Eve says, running her hands over her face. “You are one helpful motherfucker.”

“She will be in her safe room. You cannot see her until she comes out.”

“Safe room? Are people trying to kill her, too?”

“No, not that kind of safe room,” he says. “She goes when she need to feel safe. She can destroy things in there.”

“She has an entire room dedicated to destroying things when she needs to feel safe?” Eve asks, eyebrows shooting up. “I need one of those.”

“I have tried to protect her all this time,” Konstantin says quietly. “I never wanted her to know any of this. I wish you had not brought these papers.”

“She has a right to know,” Eve says with a frown. “Even if it’s unpleasant. You had no right to lie to her for twenty-some years.”

“I know this,” he snaps. “But I love her. I do not want her to suffer. She is like a daughter to me. She has been since she was born.”

Something occurs to Eve and she leans toward him, narrowing her eyes. “How did you know she let me touch her? You told her I told you, but I didn’t tell you shit.”

“The restaurant have cameras. I asked them to point one at this table so I would know if she is ever in danger.”

“So she’s like a daughter to you, but you watched me finger her under the table?” Eve is pissed.

“Of course not!” he shrieks like a girl, smiling placatingly when more heads turn their way, and then he hisses quietly, “of course not. I looked away as soon as I knew what was happening. You do not need to use that kind of language.” He makes a face.

“You’re her pimp,” Eve says, unconvinced.

“What better way to protect her? If someone else is her pimp, she will be mistreated.”

“You’re extremely controlling. You have a control issue.”

“I worry for her.”

“Dude. You’re controlling. Stop.”

He growls and grabs the manila envelope from her hands, starting to shove all the printed papers back into it. “You think what you want. You had no right to do this and you are going to judge me because my method of caring does not fit what you think caring should be? Go away then; you are not special after all.”

“Fuck you, Creeper,” Eve snorts, shoving him, and he shoves her back, and she shoves him again, and they end up rolling around on the floor slapping at each other until a few restaurant staff come over to break it up. She knows they look ridiculous but she can’t bring herself to care.

After the intervention they’re still on the floor, sitting a few feet apart from each other.

“You’d better tell her the whole truth because I’m not doing it,” she says just to be clear. “You have my number.” She mutters a few more choice words at him and gets up, looking toward the back to make sure Villanelle hasn’t come out, and when there’s still no sign of Villanelle, she leaves.

***

She goes home and sits on the couch and eats ice cream directly from the carton and watches a stupid, sappy romance movie that is so unrealistic it almost makes her cry just because it’s so horrible.

Her phone beeps with a text notification just as the movie starts rolling the credits. She didn’t expect Konstantin to call her at all, especially not so soon, so when she hears the beep she figures it’s Kenny or Elena, or maybe Bill, and when she sees it’s from Konstantin, she blinks.

_K: I can’t find her._

Why does she stand up so fast and grab her jacket? This is not her problem and Villanelle has made it clear she doesn’t want to see Eve ever again. Still, she puts on her jacket and leaves her apartment.

 _E: Meet you at the restaurant_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle does not want to feel. TW: alcohol use as a coping mechanism

Villanelle is so upset that even destroying things in her safe room does not make her feel better. She screams and rages and bashes and shatters, and what has typically lasted five to ten minutes in the past is still going after twenty minutes and she realizes with a choking roar that this hurt is not going to go away.

She takes her rarely-used car keys from their hook by the safe room door and slips out the back, winding her way around the building and down into the parking garage from the outside. She has a nice car, she’s just not really a car person. They make her feel suffocated. But she does not trust herself on the metro today. She will hurt someone very badly, and she has not done that since high school. Since Konstantin made her the safe room.

 _Konstantin_.

She can’t think of him right now. She puts the car in gear and focuses on the road, and thinks about Konstantin anyway. What did he mean by ‘this was necessary’? Why had he ordered her parents to be killed? Is he still in spetsnaz? Has he been lying to her about other things? What else has he been lying to her about?

“Agh!” She shouts and hits the steering wheel and shakes off the thoughts; pulls up in front of a liquor store. She parks halfway on the sidewalk and gets out, and she is only in the store for two minutes, just grabbing a bottle of whiskey, and then she’s back on the road.

She’s not sure where she’s going – except deep down she is sure, she knows exactly where she’s going – and she ends up at the cemetery in front of her parents’ plaques.

Mama and Papa had been cremated, and she kept them with her in the orphanage until Konstantin came to get her when she was eight, and then they lived in London together and he bought space for them here at Tower Hamlets. It was a beautiful place and Villanelle knows they like it here.

She sits on the cold ground and drinks her whiskey, and she tries to remember things. She tries to remember knowing Konstantin before Mama and Papa died. She can’t remember him ever coming to the house. She tries to remember more about Mama, or Papa, or anything about her first house when she was little, and she can’t.

So she drinks more.

And then she thinks about Eve. _EVE_. With her amazing hair and her exotic features and her face full of expression and her _confidence_.

Villanelle likes Eve.

This is why she will stay away. Villanelle is not used to liking anybody and she does not want to like anybody. She will not tolerate that in herself. But...

She likes Eve.

She drinks more.

She doesn’t usually drink at all. Things are very fuzzy now. There are two Mamas and two Papas, or maybe three of both or two of three or all of them. She sways when she tries to get up, and she falls. The ground is cold. The air is cold. She is not wearing a jacket. Is she wearing a shirt? She looks down. Yes. There is a shirt.

She wonders why Konstantin would want to hurt her this way. He has always been kind. Maybe there are two of him the way there are two of Mama and Papa? This could explain everything.

Yes, that must be it. There are two Konstantins and—

She gasps. How many Eves are there, then? There is only one Villanelle. She thinks there is one of her. But there is one Oksana too, so does that mean there are two of her?

Her head hurts and she has to go to the bathroom. She has no idea where the bathroom is. She is crawling toward the bushes to pee when she runs headfirst into something. She grunts and rears back and looks up, and oh... it is one of the Eves. And two of the Konstantins. And then it is nothing. Just black.

***

The next thing she is aware of is a pounding headache and a light that is too bright. She groans and rolls over, and drops a few feet through the air with a shriek to land on carpet. She splays her hands over the carpet and pries her eyes open to peer down at it, because it feels familiar. It looks familiar also. She is in her hotel room.

Bits and pieces of last night slip through her memory’s filter and she remembers seeing Eve and Konstantin together, at the cemetery. Fuck. At least they’d brought her to her room and left her be.

“Hey.”

She screams.

“Jesus. Sorry. I thought you knew I was here.”

Oh God. It’s Eve. Eve is here. Eve spent the night? This cannot be happening. She needs to speak. “I’m fine,” she snaps. “Go now, please.”

“There’s Advil on the—”

“I SAID GO NOW!” Villanelle thunders without looking up from the carpet.

Eve continues as if she hasn’t just roared. “There’s Advil on the coffee table and a glass of water, and there’s toast with butter for you to eat so you don’t throw up the Advil.”

She hears footsteps and a door opening and closing, and then she is alone. How is Eve not scared by this roaring? It is usually a very effective distancing tool, but Eve did not even flinch.

Villanelle ignores the Advil, water, and toast and passes back out right there on the floor.

***

When she wakes again, she is starving. So she sits up and leans her back against the sofa and eats the soggy toast. It is unsatisfying, but it is food. She takes a small handful of Advil because her head still hurts, and she finally gets up from the floor to find something more to eat in the kitchenette.

There isn’t much. She doesn’t keep much food in her hotel room because she does not often eat here. She eats at the restaurant or at home. But there is an apple and a loaf of bread, which Eve had obviously used to make toast, and there is a little butter left, so she eats the apple and makes herself some more toast, and then she sits on the sofa and watches TV and feels very sorry for herself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally talk :(

The next morning, Villanelle is still feeling sorry for herself. She takes a shower and brushes the horrible taste out of her mouth with extra toothpaste. She puts on her favorite robe and settles down to watch a movie, intending to ignore the entire world all day long, when there is a knock on her hotel room door.

Someone is very stupid to bother her. A client had made the mistake once of calling on her without an appointment and he had left with his balls in a proverbial sling. Whoever this is, they are very—what if it is Eve? Oh no, it is probably Eve.

She turns up the TV and tries to ignore it, but probably-Eve knocks again. And again. And if she does not open the door and get rid of probably-Eve, she will not be able to enjoy her movie or her self-pity.

Finally, with a disgusted sigh, she tosses down the remote and goes across the room, flinging open the door. “What?” she snaps.

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Villanelle, can I please come in?”

Something about the exasperation in Eve’s tone makes her feel the sliiiightest bit guilty and she frowns, unhappy. “Fine. But I don’t know why you’re here. Rescuing me from my drunkenness was not heroic because it was your fault I tried to drown myself in whiskey.”

“I’m here because Konstantin is a pussy and I don’t think he can make himself tell you the whole truth, so I’m stuck doing it. Believe me, I’m not thrilled. This is not a picnic, being treated like shit when you’re trying to help someone. Get out of the way.”

Villanelle is appropriately cowed by this and that little tiny guilty feeling grows some and settles in her chest. She steps out of the way to let Eve in and closes the door behind her. She turns and watches Eve go to the sofa and sit looking uncomfortable with her hands clasped on her knees. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” she says, but her voice is not as sharp.

“No, I do,” Eve says. “This is my fault, I know that’s true. I mean I’m not the one who did it, but I probably should have stayed out of it. I don’t know what I thought I was doing, other than just—” Eve stops and sighs.

“Just trying to find a way to get close to me,” Villanelle finishes for her.

“Yeah,” Eve admits, blowing out a heavy breath and leaning back, tilting her head to stare at the ceiling. “I’m sorry for that. It was out of line.”

Villanelle doesn’t really know what to think. No one has made such a bold effort to get close to her before. She is comfortable keeping everyone at arms’ length or further. “I do have a right to know the truth, though,” she finally says, staring at the floor. “You were right about that. Even if your motivations were a little more selfish than selfless.”

Eve is blushing and Villanelle is enjoying that. She deserves to be blushing and embarrassed. Villanelle is not so red-hot angry anymore, but she still likes that Eve is the one on the spot instead of her.

“So I’ll ask you, then, instead of just telling you. Do you want to know why? It’s not pretty.”

Villanelle isn’t sure if she wants to know or not. She brings a chair over from one corner of the room and puts it across from the sofa on the opposite side of the coffee table, and she sits with one leg curled under her and the other knee pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped protectively around it. “Is it worse than thinking he murdered my parents for no reason?”

Eve looks at her for a minute and then shakes her head. “I honestly don’t know.”

That is not a reassuring answer at all, and now Villanelle really doesn’t know if she wants Eve to tell her the rest of the truth.

“I mean... do you remember anything about your parents? Anything at all?”

“I have tried,” Villanelle admits, shaking her head slowly. “But I do not. I only remember what they looked like.”

“So you don’t have good memories of them that would be ruined?”

Villanelle’s heart starts beating faster and her hands start sweating. “Ruined? So they did something bad,” she says, picking up on the unspoken part of what Eve is asking. “I think you’d better just tell me,” she decides, because in the long run, not knowing will be worse than knowing. It was fine when she didn’t know there was anything to know, but now... she will always wonder if she does not let Eve tell her. “Tell me,” she says again, hugging her knee tighter to her chest.

Eve looks _really_ uncomfortable. “Your parents, uh—he said that your parents, they, uh, that they were abusive. To—to you.”

“I do not remember this,” Villanelle says, as if that means it can’t be true. “What did he say they did to me?”

Eve looks like she is about to bolt. But she continues. “He said that your father was physically abusive, you know, that he hit you all the time, and he said that your mother—” Eve’s voice stutters to a stop, and Villanelle is already feeling herself crumble.

Feeling herself crumble at the news that her father beat her, but whatever Eve is going to say about her mother is going to be worse, she knows from that stuttering stop.

“He said that your mother did terrible medical things to you.”

“What?” Panic grips her chest. “What does that mean? What kind of medical things? I do not even know what she could have done like that. What medical things?”

Eve shakes her head. “He didn’t say specifically.”

“But why couldn’t he just take me away from them? Why did he have to have them murdered? Was I there when it happened?” She has so many questions and she wants to put her fist down Konstantin’s throat. He has always taken such good care of her but she doesn’t think she can forgive him for this. “Did I watch them get murdered?” Her voice gets louder and her eyes fill with tears.

“I don’t know,” Eve says quietly. “I think so.”

Villanelle is so hurt, and angry again, and sad, and she feels lost, like she is drifting through a violent tide without a life jacket or knowing how to swim. She tries again to remember her parents, armed with this new information, but still, nothing will come to her. She gives a frustrated scream and hugs both knees to her chest now. “I will not be good company today, Eve,” she says, her voice almost affectless after the emotion-filled scream. She expects Eve to leave. Who wants to be around someone that is not good company?

“That’s okay,” Eve says. “I like this movie.” Eve picks up the remote and raises the volume.

Villanelle’s chair is blocking the TV from Eve’s view, and she wants to tell Eve to leave, but a little part of her must not want that, because she doesn’t do it. She just moves her chair out of the way so Eve can see the movie, and after they sit there in silence for what feels like hours but is only probably ten minutes, she shuffles over and sits on the very opposite end of the sofa so she can see the movie, too. She curls into a ball and puts her head down on the arm of the sofa, and neither of them say anything. When the movie is over, another one comes on, and they watch that too.

Eve doesn’t try to talk to her or get her to talk. They just watch. They just exist in the same time and space, and it goes from tense and unpredictable to calm and comforting. She is not used to having anyone just exist with her, and somehow this small act from Eve is more soothing than anything she could have imagined.

She is crying a little by the time the second movie ends, and when she looks down she sees she has moved closer to Eve. Eve is not looking at her and doesn’t seem to have noticed, or if she has noticed, she is good at hiding it.

“Eve,” she says when the first movie starts again, because this channel likes to play things over and over, and they are lucky the second movie was even different from the first. She feels out of her element; drowning in her new reality.

Eve looks at her. “Hm?” And now she sees the surprise on Eve’s face at how close she is. “Hey there,” Eve says with a lopsided grin.

“I don’t know what to do,” Villanelle admits.

“How long has it been since you let someone just hold you?”

Villanelle shakes her head. She has never done this, so a head shake is the only answer.

“How about we try it?”

Eve’s arms look so inviting, and what could be worse than sitting here feeling the despair settle in her gut? She slides a little closer, hesitates, and then finishes closing the gap and lets Eve put an arm around her.

She gasps at the initial contact, the weight of Eve’s arm so strange on her shoulders, and then she is being pulled in, and she is being cradled against Eve’s chest with both of Eve’s arms around her, squeezing, and she sobs, letting the floodgates open.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They watch movies and Eve apologizes again.

Eve holds Villanelle while she cries. She gets the impression that it doesn’t happen very often, because it is intense and powerful and very clearly comes from deep inside this woman. She feels horrible for jumping into something so gung ho without considering the ramifications. Of course Villanelle has a right to know what happened in her life, but was it Eve’s place? No. Maybe if they’d known each other better or were dating or had been friends for a while, but as it stood, no, it wasn’t Eve’s place, and while she can’t entirely regret it because she so desperately wants to be close to Villanelle, she does mostly regret it. She should have thought further ahead. Her impulsiveness was a double-edged sword; a gift and a curse in equal measures.

When Villanelle finally stops crying she moves to push herself away but Eve tightens her hold. “Not yet,” she whispers, and feels Villanelle settle. She knows instinctively that Villanelle will feel like a burden now; feel like she has to compose herself now that the tears have stopped, but that is the furthest thing from Eve’s mind.

They sit in silence for a long time after that, punctuated every so often by Villanelle’s sniffles. Eve doesn’t try to make her talk.

Finally, Villanelle stirs again. “I really have to pee.”

Eve laughs and loosens her hold. “Me after.” She watches Villanelle disappear into the bathroom and stretches out her arms. She would never complain but they’ve gone a bit tingly from staying in one position for so long, especially with weight on them. They’ve stopped tingling by the time Villanelle emerges, and she takes her turn in the bathroom.

She has no idea what to expect when she comes out; whether Villanelle will ask her to leave, yell at her, throw things at her, or any combination thereof. A quiet invitation is not on the list.

“Would you want to watch another movie? I can change the channel.”

Eve’s heart starts to race and she shrugs in what she hopes is a casual manner that doesn’t scream FUCK YES from the rooftops. “Sure. What channels does this hotel even get?”

“Not very many,” Villanelle says, pointing the remote at the TV and flipping through until she settles on an old black-and-white movie.

“You like westerns?” Eve asks, rethinking her choice to stay. No, not really. They could watch cartoons for all she cared. She walks over and sits back where she had been before, the corner of the couch furthest from the door. She notes that Villanelle is back to sitting on the opposite end, but that’s okay.

“I said there are not very many channels,” Villanelle reminds her. “It is this or keep watching the same two movies we already watched.”

“John Wayne it is,” Eve says, settling in for the ride. “Are you hungry? How’s the room service here?”

“Abysmal.” Villanelle makes a face that Eve finds entirely childish and endearing.

“Pizza?”

Villanelle’s face returns to normal and she nods.

***

They eat pizza and watch the western, and it’s not that bad of a movie, really, and—it’s a fantastic fucking movie because Villanelle is almost close enough to touch again. Wow, this movie is amazing. Any movie that gets Villanelle to scoot closer to her on the sofa is amazing. She wants to do so many things. She wants to hold Villanelle, hug her, kiss her, run her hands through honeyed hair, tell her everything is going to be okay, take her pain away, touch her everywhere and make her squirm. She wants to be so far inside this woman’s soul that she can’t find where she ends and Villanelle begins. There is just something about her that Eve can’t shake. Doesn’t want to shake. She wants everything. But she won’t do any of that. She’s done being selfish. She will do whatever Villanelle wants and whatever Villanelle needs.

“Eve?”

She turns her head. “Yeah?”

“Do you think I’ll ever remember?”

Eve exhales slowly. That’s a huge question. “Do you want to?”

“No.” Villanelle doesn’t even hesitate.

“Then maybe let’s just... pretend it was all a lie. You don’t have to think about it and you don’t have to try to remember, and God, Villanelle, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Villanelle is so close and she looks like she might cry again, but she doesn’t. “I want to know, I just don’t want to remember. What if I’m with a client and something comes back to me? I’ll get a bad review and business will suffer.”

Eve’s eyebrows lift before she can stop them. “Is that the only reason you don’t want to remember?”

Villanelle looks uncomfortable. “Of course not, but it is the easiest reason to think about.”

Eve’s eyebrows settle. “That makes sense. What do you remember from your childhood? Were some of those pictures from an orphanage?”

Villanelle nods. “I was there until I was eight.” She shrugs. “It was fine. Not bad, not great. Then Konstantin came to get me when I was eight and we moved to London.”

“You still have a Russian accent.”

“Konstantin was the person I saw the most growing up. And you have heard how he speaks.”

“Fuckin’ pussy,” Eve mutters under her breath, pleasantly surprised when Villanelle laughs. And holy hell, it’s a beautiful laugh. The sound as well as the way it reaches all the way to her sparkling eyes. God, she wants to kiss Villanelle. Oksana. Villanelle seems like Oksana in this moment, almost carefree, and Eve wants to kiss her so badly.

She is probably imagining things, but Villanelle looks like she’s considering the same thing. Her eyes flick to Eve’s lips, and the only thing that keeps Eve from leaning in is the fact that she knows how vulnerable Villanelle is right now and she won’t take advantage. So she doesn’t move, and she purposely diffuses the moment by leaning forward to grab another slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table.

“This is good fuckin’ pizza,” she says as she takes a bite.

Villanelle looks disappointed and relieved at the same time, and Eve is sure she made the right choice because she can see trust building between them like a bridge. Piece by piece. And that feels really, exceptionally good.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is reeeeeeeealllllyyy short but I needed this to happen before I can proceed and I want Eve's POV for the next scene.

Villanelle loves the way Eve just stays with her and doesn’t try to make her talk, but that when she wants to talk, Eve listens, and when she wants feedback, Eve offers feedback. She doesn’t think anyone has ever treated her this way before. Konstantin loves her, but he is always trying to make her be different, or at least this is how she sees his behavior. Maybe he is just being fatherly and she doesn’t realize because she doesn’t know any other fathers to compare him to, and she doesn’t remember her own.

It is bittersweet when Eve finally leaves around dinnertime, because Villanelle has enjoyed being with her and does not really want her to leave, but she also has something she needs to do. She holds her breath when they say goodbye because she wants to kiss Eve, but she also doesn’t. Things are very conflicting inside herself right now, and kissing would be a bad idea. “Thank you,” she says at the last second, when Eve is already a few steps down the corridor.

Eve turns and blows her a kiss, continuing to walk, and Villanelle’s eyes widen when a room service attendant rounds the corner.

“Eve!”

Eve stops just in time to avoid a collision and Villanelle’s heartbeat quiets. She smiles and closes the door, and breathes.

Now... it is time to do a favor for Konstantin.

She puts on sweat pants and a dark hoodie and goes to his house. She knows what will make him angry, so she wakes up his actual daughter with a hand over Irina’s mouth and a finger to her own lips in a shushing gesture.

Irina grins under her hand and she takes it away, knowing her little almost-sister understands. “Hi,” Irina mouths; doesn’t even whisper. Irina is very smart.

“Hi,” Villanelle mouths back. She motions for Irina to follow and Irina gets out of bed and puts slippers on so her feet will be extra quiet.

They have done this before, but that was when Villanelle had snuck her out to go to the drive-in or to go steal alcohol from the corner liquor store and get shitfaced drunk. Tonight will be different.

She leads Irina to Konstantin’s study and pulls out his prized cassette tapes from his closet, setting the boxes one after the other on the rug in the center of the room. When all of his cassettes are out, she sits cross-legged in front of the first box, takes out a tape, and starts pulling the ribbon out.

Irina’s eyes go wide and she shakes her head no, but Villanelle nods, and Irina was probably only putting in a token “good daughter” protest because after that she grins and sits down to help.

Villanelle makes sure she pulls the ribbons all the way out and rips them in half so they can’t be respooled. She makes sure Irina is doing the same.

They are hours into the job and almost finished when Villanelle hears Konstantin’s footsteps, and she braces herself for the screaming.

“No... no no NO!” Konstantin screams, and he’s looming in front of her, grabbing her by the upper arms and lifting her, slamming her into the wall. “You cannot DO this!”

But she looks at him, hopeless and lost, with tears in her eyes, and he finally understands how much he’s hurt her, because he forgives her instantly and hugs her.

“I’m sorry, Oksana,” he says, and the amount of squeezing is actually painful, but she doesn’t mind. He hasn’t really hugged her like this before, so she knows he’s really sorry.

She puts her arms around him a little, and when he finally lets go of her, she changes the subject. “Call Eve and tell her she can have that appointment.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are difficulties with Eve's appointment :(  
> Eve POV

Eve is surprised when she gets a call from Konstantin that she has an appointment with Villanelle. “What?” she says.

“She told me call you and tell you you have an appointment. Well, first she break into my house and destroyed all my cassette tapes, then we forgive each other and she told me to call you and tell you you have an appointment.”

“Fine. Tell her I don’t want a performance or I’m getting a refund.”

“I am definitely not telling her that and your deposit is non-refundable.”

The phone clicks in her ear.

“Motherfucker...”

***

She doesn’t know what to expect when she knocks on Villanelle’s hotel room door. Will it be the girl in her arms the other night or the girl who ran out of the restaurant?

Clearly, it will be neither. Because Villanelle opens the door wearing nothing but dark green lace panties and electrical tape in the shape of exes over her nipples. She’s got on a long, straight wig that’s somehow both pink and not pink, and there’s a coy grin on her face as she moves out of the way for Eve to enter. “Hi, Eve,” she says, and it’s in an obnoxious American accent.

Eve doesn’t move. “Villanelle, I told pussyboy to tell you I don’t want a performance.”

“Don’t be rude,” Villanelle says, rolling her eyes. “And my name is Billie.”

“This isn’t funny,” Eve says. She turns to leave but Villanelle grabs her elbow. Tightly. With an edge of desperation.

“Don’t leave.”

It’s her normal voice, so Eve waits.

“Let me keep the wig on. Please, Eve. I will get rid of the name and the accent.”

Two out of three isn’t bad, and Eve sighs. “I’m fine with this being an appointment, but I still expect you to be yourself,” she says.

“I am doing my best,” Villanelle says. “This is all I can give you right now. Come inside. Please.”

Eve still wants to leave, but she steps inside anyway and lets Villanelle close the door behind them. “Why did you give me an appointment?”

“Because you are wealthy and I need to make a living.”

She’s about to leave again when she catches the glint in Villanelle’s eyes.

“I am only joking, Eve. Please, take off your coat.”

Eve doesn’t like the way Villanelle has managed to avoid giving a real answer, but she slides her coat off and hangs it up. “I want the girl from the other night,” she finally says.

She sees the vulnerability flash in Villanelle’s eyes before the younger woman’s expression flips back to casual. “This is a business transaction, Eve. You are paying me for sex, not cuddling on the couch while I make a fool of myself.”

“Is that how you see what happened?” Eve asks, blinking at her.

“Take off your blouse, hm?” Villanelle suggests instead. “Tell me what you like.”

“I like Oksana.” She says it before she can think better of it and Villanelle’s eyes narrow.

“Oksana is not here.”

“She’s here somewhere,” Eve insists.

“She is not. Here,” Villanelle repeats, and Eve can sense the storm brewing. “You can have Villanelle or Billie. Or you can waste your money and have neither.”

“Why—” Eve starts to ask a question when Villanelle places a hand between her breasts and shoves her backward on to the sofa.

“Stop. Talking.”

She tries to let this happen. She lets Villanelle straddle her on the sofa and start undoing her blouse. She lets Villanelle kiss and bite her throat and grind down onto her thigh. But she’s not into it. She can’t do it. “No,” she says, pushing Villanelle off of her and standing up. “I can’t do this. Keep your money, but I can’t do this.”

She moves to the door and is about to grab her jacket from the coat rack when she hears a soft thud behind her. She freezes; drops her hand to her side; finally turns around. Villanelle is on her knees. Eve’s breath catches and she falters, torn over what to do.

“It’s not that I mind being a client,” she breathes. “But I mind you hiding what you shared with me and hiding who you are.”

She watches in horrified awe as Villanelle drops forward onto her hands and starts crawling toward her. It’s not meant as a seductive crawl, that much is obvious, but she’s not sure what it _is_ meant as. So she stands perfectly still and awaits Villanelle’s next move.

Villanelle comes to a stop at her feet and lightly headbutts her thigh, then rubs her cheek against it. “I am trying, Eve.”

Eve isn’t going to have Villanelle at her feet and she crouches down to eye level. “You don’t have to try,” she whispers. “Just be yourself.”

“Sometimes I don’t know who that is, Eve.”

Villanelle is staring at the floor and Eve won’t have that either. She puts a finger beneath the girl’s chin and lifts her head. “I think you do. I think you’re scared, but you know who you are.”

She can feel Villanelle trembling where they’re touching. “But I don’t...”

“You do,” Eve insists. “And if you think you don’t, it’s only because you’re not sure how to reconcile who you are with who you’ve been pretending to be.”

“Who am I, Eve?”

Villanelle is looking straight at her now, and the question is almost a challenge.

Eve slides her hand along the underside of Villanelle’s chin and feathers fingertips across a hard-working throat. She can feel it when Villanelle swallows; feel the muscles press lightly forward.

She leans in, almost as if she’s about to kiss Villanelle, but lips go to the girl’s ear instead. “You are Oksana. And you are Villanelle.”


	11. Chapter 11

Oksana. And Villanelle. She looks at Eve. “You want Oksana.”

Eve looks back at her. “I want both.”

She is about to say something else, she doesn’t know what, when Eve speaks again, even quieter.

“Do you know what that... outfit... is doing to me, Oksana?”

Oh. Oh. When Eve says it like _that_ , she does not mind being called Oksana. At all. “Is this considered an outfit?” she breathes.

Eve licks her lips. “No. No, it’s not.”

“I was not sure. Your mouth said outfit, but your eyes did not say outfit, so you can never be too careful...”

“It’s really not even lingerie. It’s literally panties and electrical tape.”

Villanelle nods. “Did you like the way I decorated my breasts with it, though? With the tape?”

Eve looks like she might be about to tear off the tape with her teeth. “Yeah, Oksana. I like the way you decorated your breasts with the tape. Did you choose that design specifically for me, or...?”

Villanelle puts a coy expression on her face even though she knows Eve is being sarcastic and does not care about the design at all. It is something to ease the tension. “I could not use an O shape because that would not have covered my nipples. I did not want to go for a full blackout, because what would be sexy about that? I might as well wear an actual shirt then, right?”

“Villanelle.”

Okay, so she definitely likes Eve switching back and forth between her names. “Hm?”

“Shut up.”

“Did you bring a gag, Eve? Because shutting me up will be very difficult without a—”

And Eve is kissing her.

Oh.

Fuck.

What is she supposed to do?

She moans.

It’s loud.

Is this what kissing is supposed to feel like? Because Villanelle thinks that if this is the normal way to feel when you are being kissed, hospitals would be very full of make-out victims. Her heart is beating so hard it’s frightening; her pulse is thundering in her ears and between her thighs; her lungs refuse to take in any air.

It goes on forever and she is embarrassingly wet. Her stomach quivers and even her knees don’t want to hold her up. She drops backward onto her heels, breaking the kiss inadvertently, and swipes her tongue across her lips in an effort to hold on to the taste of Eve’s mouth. “ _Fuck_.”

Eve is grinning. In fact, Eve looks pretty damn proud of herself, if Villanelle has to guess. “Should we take off that tape?”

“No,” she says, just to be a dick. “Eve, you kissed me.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

“Maybe I didn’t...”

“Villanelle,” Eve says, and she doesn’t look proud of herself anymore. Now she looks... predatory. She leans in closer. She puts her lips right against Villanelle’s earlobe and Villanelle can feel the warm breaths tickle her skin and the tiny hairs on her neck stand on end. “I can _smell_ you.”

Villanelle loses her composure at that, her face burning. She covers it quickly with her hands, torn between laughing and dying of embarrassment. But then she goes for neither. “Smell me? Are you the Big Bad Wolf, Eve?” she asks, peering between her fingers.

Eve laughs, though. “That would make you Little Red Riding Hood, and she’s supposed to be sweet and innocent, isn’t she?”

Villanelle isn’t laughing. “Maybe not sweet and innocent,” she says, taking her hands away from her face so she can really look at Eve’s eyes. “Maybe just too trusting. She was too trusting and she got hurt.”

She can tell that Eve instantly understands the parallel because the laughter fades. “ _Did_ she get hurt, though? Maybe she wanted to get bitten by the wolf.”

Villanelle is stunned speechless for a moment, just staring. Because... what? “You think the wolf gave her what she wanted?” she finally asks in a breathy whisper. What a sordid and welcome twist that would be to the thoughts circling her mind.

“I don’t think she trusted the wolf at all,” Eve says, and she gets to her feet so that Villanelle has to look up to see her face. “I think the wolf made her an offer. I think she didn’t want to refuse.” Eve stops and wraps a hand in her hair. “I think _you_ don’t want to refuse.”

Villanelle definitely doesn’t want to refuse. She just doesn’t know how to accept. So she lets Eve pull her hair and she leans forward, doing what she does know, nuzzling her nose against the inside of Eve’s thigh.

When Eve lets her do this without pushing her away, she scoots closer until her knees are touching Eve’s shoes. She reaches for—

“If you want me to let you do that, take off the wig.”

Villanelle sighs, but she is okay with this now, and she carefully works the wig free, taking off the bindings underneath and fluffing out her hair, tossing everything else aside. “Okay?”

“Mm.” Eve nods.

Villanelle reaches for Eve’s belt buckle and gets it open, then undoes the trousers and lets them fall gracelessly. Eve’s hand is in her hair again, her _real_ hair, and she drags the very sexy black underwear down to join the trousers, watching Eve step out of both and shuffle her feet apart. “I can smell you, too,” she says with a cheeky little grin directed upward, and Eve’s hand tightens in her hair. Not punishing. Warning. She chuckles and places a tiny kiss on one smooth, bare thigh. Oh, fuck... Eve’s skin is so soft.

Eve’s hand relaxes at the kiss.

Villanelle nudges upward with her nose until she can rub her face against the slick between Eve’s thighs. She could get lost here. Spend hours exploring and never find her way back.

She gets her hands involved right away, gently spreading Eve’s lips apart so she can graze her tongue between them.

Eve’s hand tightens again.

The taste. God. She’s not going to be able to get enough, _ever_. She takes another lick.

Eve’s hips jerk.

Villanelle moans, taking it in stride as that jerk pushes her tongue lower. She flicks and circles with the tip and pushes inside, and she thinks again about the taste, and how she can’t even describe it in her head. She could definitely get lost here for hours.

She pulls her tongue back and pushes in again, then dips out and licks her way around Eve’s spread folds, tongue bumping against fingertips that are still holding Eve open. She licks again. Again. Then licks in circles. Then pushes her tongue inside again. Then scrapes Eve’s clit with her top teeth.

She can feel Eve’s legs starting to shake a little, so she lets go with her hands and wraps them around Eve’s thighs, holding tight. Now she has to use her tongue to get where she wants; to get sensitive flesh out of her way. Instead of moving it aside, though, she sucks one of Eve’s lips into her mouth and strokes the tip of her tongue along it, and that gets her hair pulled in a very unhinged sort of way.

“Fuck. Oksana.”

“Mm,” she says in response, moving to the other side, doing the exact same thing and getting her hair yanked on again. She doesn’t mind. The sting fades quickly but the feeling of provoking Eve to such an action remains.

She teases her way up to Eve’s clit and flicks at it a few times, enjoying the contrast between how hard it is under her tongue and how soft the rest of Eve’s skin is. She dips back down to tease, swirling through slick, and then up again, grazing with her teeth, teasing, teasing, until Eve makes a very impatient sound from above her and her face is suddenly being forced closer.

Eve doesn’t speak; she doesn’t have to. Villanelle gets it. She stops teasing. She breathes in, nostrils flaring at the heady scent, and she loves the hand in her hair that prevents her from easing off. She could still refuse to make Eve come, but she won’t. She wants Eve to come.

She sucks, softly, with a pulsing rhythm. She takes Eve’s clit fully into her mouth, pressing her lips together to trap it inside so she can bathe it with attention; nurse it into life. It feels good. So good. She hasn’t enjoyed sex this much in... possibly ever.

She rakes her nails down the backs of Eve’s thighs, thrilled at the moan she gets in response, and she sucks a little harder, playing with her teeth and tongue.

She can feel the buildup. Eve is close.

She hums.

She pulls.

She bites.

And Eve comes undone.

There is pressure on her neck because Eve leans forward and throws a hand out to steady herself on the sofa, which is behind Villanelle and makes her lean back. But she doesn’t let go. Her stomach muscles have to work hard now to hold her up, but that is only more motivation to get Eve through this peak. She squeezes with her arms and milks with her mouth, and when Eve finally shudders and stills, Villanelle’s stomach is on fire and she shuffles backward on her knees to a more comfortable position and licks the come from Eve’s cunt.

She is so very happy that Eve has let her do this. Even if she had to take off her wig and be herself. Be Oksana, and Villanelle.

The tape on her nipples is starting to itch and the crotch of her panties is so wet it’s uncomfortable. She licks Eve all the way clean and wipes her mouth with the back of her forearm. “Eve, will you make me naked?”

Eve seems to need another minute. Villanelle isn’t sure how she knows, because Eve does not communicate, but somehow she just knows. She sits and patiently waits. Somewhat patiently. While squirming. But it is not her fault, because she is just so _wet_.

Finally, Eve answers. “I would love to make you naked.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I did it, I finished this. I'm sad for it to be over, but honestly it's accomplished everything that I set out for it to accomplish, so I'd rather end it on a successful note than drag it out and have it turn into something it's not supposed to be. :)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who loves this story. I may write a oneshot or two in this universe in the future, but for now, just know they're living their happy.

She waits; watches. Watches Eve make herself naked first and feels saliva filling her mouth at the sight of Eve’s breasts. They’re as perfect as the rest of her. Eve is just so beautiful. “Am I beautiful?” she blurts out before she realizes she’s even speaking, and the unexpected opening of her mouth lets out a tiny bit of drool that she quickly wipes away, hoping Eve didn’t notice.

The way Eve looks at her then is indescribable. “Yes,” she says simply, and holds out her hand.

Villanelle takes it and lets Eve help her to her feet, and she goes to lean her forehead on Eve’s shoulder when finger catch her under the chin again and hold her face still.

“You are _so_ beautiful,” Eve continues. “Everything about you is beautiful, Oksana.”

“You are exaggerating, Eve,” Villanelle whispers, but she manages to hold that intense gaze despite the urge to look away; to look at the floor, or the ceiling, or literally anywhere other than Eve’s eyes.

Eve is kissing her again. And it is just as devastating as the first kiss, stealing the breath from her lungs and rushing blood to her cheeks and making her knees wobble. “Please,” she murmurs against Eve’s lips. “Take me to bed.”

Before she knows it, Eve picks her up, one arm under her knees and one under her upper back, and she squeals in surprise, trying to get down just out of instinct.

Eve doesn’t let her down and carries her to the bed, tossing her into the middle of it. She can’t help laughing as she bounces a little and settles. She looks at Eve... and she definitely likes looking at Eve. Even fully clothed, she likes looking, but especially naked.

She holds her breath when Eve straddles her on the bed and reaches for the tape that’s irritating her nipples. She’s not sure what to expect; how Eve will remove it, but it’s tender and slow and it hurts much less than it would have if she’d ripped it off herself.

Eve is staring after the tape is balled up and tossed aside, and Villanelle gasps as fingers close over her nipples with the barest amount of pressure.

“Oh,” she says, squirming, arching her back. She doesn’t let clients touch her this way, and Eve didn’t touch her breasts in the restaurant, so it’s been a while. They’re sensitive. _She’s_ sensitive.

Eve’s hands leave her breasts and slide down her ribs and over her belly, fingers curling around the top of her panties. This is it.

She lifts her hips to give Eve permission when she feels the hesitation, and that seems to be all that’s needed, because then her panties are gone and she is truly naked. This is so different from being naked with clients. Not a single thought in her head right now is the same as any thoughts when she’s with someone else. Eve is... everything.

She wants Eve to know she’s trying, that she’s doing her very best, that she wants to be vulnerable and soft and present, and she eases her legs apart and places her hands lightly on her pillow, flanking her head.

Eve kisses her breasts and strokes her thighs. Licks up the column of her throat and bites softly along the edge of her jaw. Nudges her legs further apart and kneels between them, teasing fingers through more than enough wetness to sustain the urge for quick penetration, but goes slow anyway.

Agonizingly slow.

To the point Villanelle actually bucks her hips.

And whines.

And reaches further above her head to wrap her fingers around a slat in the headboard.

Still, Eve takes her time. She starts with one finger, barely inside, making Villanelle chase the touch with every shallow thrust, and by the time she has worked two fingers all the way in, Villanelle is a panting, writhing mess.

She’s gone when Eve touches her clit.

It’s a powerful, shuddering climax that leaves her a mess, tears streaming down her temples to land in her hair that’s fanned out beneath her.

Eve kisses her tears away and kisses _her_ ; brushes hair back from her eyes, and grins. “Villanelle?”

“Yes, Eve?”

“Where do you keep that plug?”


End file.
